


If I Were Born on a Day That Didn't Snow

by glassclosetcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Angst and Humor, Complete, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Cleverly Disguised as a Meet-Cute, First Meetings, Hopeful Ending, Longing, M/M, Mary Winchester is a meddling meddler, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassclosetcastiel/pseuds/glassclosetcastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of odd encounters at the arrivals gate at Kansas City International Airport leaves the Winchesters reeling. For seven months, Dean is left wondering about the eccentric man with the intense eyes and the too-large trench coat.<br/>What had happened to him?<br/>What was he running from?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the airport before I begin: Kansas City International Airport is set up very unlike normal airports. Basically, it's just three terminals that are each one long horizontal hallway. Baggage claim, check-in, and all the gates are along one long wall and the seats and shops and stuff are all along the other long wall. And each gate has its own security check point, so your family can stay with you right up to the point that you reach your gate. If you can picture it, it may help you understand better.
> 
> Giant thanks to Becca, who makes my writing so much better. Many thanks to Ash, Tennyo, and Elizabeth for looking it over and for the beta. Thank you to the ECKC for idea-bouncing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Things to do today:  
> 1) Breathe in.  
> 2) Breathe out.”  
> ― It’s Kind of a Funny Story

Kansas City International Airport at Christmas time was a sight to behold. Enormous red velvet bows hung from the ceiling at regular intervals, and white string lights adorned the length of the continuous terminal walls. Giant, real evergreen wreaths gave off their distinctly wintry perfume, and the chill from the snowy world outside permeated the airport with the frequent opening and closing of automatic sliding doors. In short, the airport at Christmas was a treat to the senses.

Dean didn’t see it that way. To him, the airport during the holidays was no better than the Emergency Room on the 4th of July. Incensed by the crowds and worn down by the supposedly cheerful holiday music piping from camouflaged speakers overhead, Dean weaved his way through the mass of bodies as he followed his mother down the long concourse to a bank of Arrivals screens on the wall. He took one look at row after row of flashing red DELAYED and CANCELLED alerts and sighed. American Airlines flight 2638 from Dallas/Fort Worth was delayed due to weather, like nearly all flights coming from the west. He turned to look at a bank of flatscreen TVs mounted to the opposite wall, watching as a massive swath of green and yellow and red overtook the radar over the vertical length of the United States.

“Well, the weather’s not so bad in Texas, thank God,” Mary said, following Dean’s gaze to the TVs. “Their flight’s only delayed about an hour.”

The airport was 45 minutes from home, so leaving and coming back would be pointless. Mary nodded her head to a Starbucks just to the left of the American Airlines gates. “You want a coffee or something while we wait?”

“Yeah.” Dean eyed the line so long that it wrapped around the side of the cafe and blocked a whole entrance to a Newport News shop. “Why don’t you go find a seat and I’ll get something for us. What do you want?”

“Get me a grande triple shot mocha with a splash of soy milk,” she replied as she peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat.

“Don’t be one of those people,” Dean admonished. He'd already forgotten the specifics of her complicated order.

“Oh hush.” She smacked him on the shoulder through his thick leather jacket. “Get yourself a pastry or something. You’re grumpy.”

“Am not,” Dean argued, but his mother had already stepped off in search of a place to sit. He situated himself in the back of the ridiculously long line and pulled his sleeve away from his watch to check the time. 1:16 p.m. Still another 54 minutes until Sam and Jess would be landing. Dean surveyed the line ahead of him and thought that it might actually take that long just to get to the front of it.

It took 23 minutes. Dean was stuck on an impossible level of Unblock Me on his phone when an exasperated voice got his attention, summoning him to the counter. He ordered a large black coffee for himself, grinding his teeth when the young barista corrected him (“you mean a ‘venti’?”) and rolled his eyes when Dean ordered his mother’s “grande triple mocha something or other with some soy shit in it.” Dean ordered some kind of fruit thing that looked like a miniature pie for himself and a giant chocolate chip cookie for his mom, and he matched the barista’s stink eye as he forked over an inordinate amount of cash for the lot.

Dean wandered a little outside the cafe while he waited for the kid to prepare his order, spotting his mom’s wavy blonde hair and turquoise wool coat in a crowded bank of chairs across from the gate where Sam and Jess would be arriving. When the barista called his name, he went around the line and shoved the paper bags holding the baked goods into his pockets, accepting the cardboard holder containing the two drinks. He didn’t notice that his coffee bore the moniker ‘Deanie Beanie’ until he was already in the seating area, weaving his way to his mother.

Mary was flanked on the right by a young couple with several rowdy, running children. An attractive, dark-haired man about Dean’s age occupied the seat to her left on the end of the row. Dean scanned the seating area and found several other empty chairs scattered about, and judging by his mother’s too-innocent smile, she’d chosen to sit here on purpose, even though it put them next to the noisy kids and their aloof parents. He thrust the triple mocha-whatever into Mary's hands and pulled the cookie bag out of his pocket, setting it on top of her purse where it sat on the floor at her feet.

“Took you long enough,” she teased, blowing on her drink to cool it.

“Yeah well.” Dean glanced at his watch. Only 28 minutes. “Have you checked the arrivals again?”

“Yep, I've been keeping tabs on it,” Mary replied. “No change.”

Dean pulled the pastry out of the brown paper bag and set it neatly on a napkin on his lap, flattening the bag to put it underneath. He thought he caught a hint of a smile curling the lips of the dark-haired man next to his mother, but when he turned to look, the guy seemed to be absorbed in watching families reunite at one of the only gates with successfully arriving passengers.

“Oh good, you got yourself a tart,” Mary noted, nodding at the curious pastry in Dean’s hands. “You’ll like it. Just like a little pie.”

To Dean’s horror, his mother leaned over and addressed the man beside her. “Would you like part of a chocolate chip cookie, dear? You look like you could use something sweet.”

The man startled, clearly not expecting to be spoken to. He cocked his head a bit in confusion, turning cornflower blue eyes on Mary. His expression was not unkind as he asked, “I’m sorry? Are you talking to me?”

His voice was low and gravelly, somehow managing to not sound ridiculous as it matched his slightly disheveled appearance perfectly. Dean let his eyes rove over the guy, noticing how his blue tie looked dull in comparison to his eyes. It had somehow gotten flipped backwards. Dean wondered how he hadn't yet noticed.

“Yes, you,” Mary smiled. She snapped the cookie in half and held one side out to him. “Have some. This thing is huge.”

“Um,” the man floundered. He looked up at Dean as if needing confirmation that it was okay to interact with her. Dean barely held off on rolling his eyes. He knew his mother’s games, so he had half a mind to tell her to leave the poor guy alone—he was probably here waiting to pick up his wife or something and just wanted to wait in peace—but after a moment of thoughtful silence, the man took the proffered cookie with a “thank you.” He seemed surprised at how delicious it was as he took the first bite, chewing around a soft 'mmm.'

“This weather is something, huh?” Mary offered, turning a little in her seat to face him more directly.

“It is,” the man replied after taking a moment to swallow. “Are you waiting for family?” He flicked his eyes between the two of them.

“Yep! My son and his girlfriend,” Mary replied, eyes lighting up as she spoke about her baby. “They’ve been together for a few years but we haven’t had a chance to meet her yet. Oh, Sam’s just head over heels for her. I think he’ll propose to her soon enough.”

The man smiled politely and nodded, finishing his half of the cookie. Dean noticed his thinly-veiled discomfort at having melted chocolate on his fingers and offered him a napkin.

“I’m Mary, by the way, and this is my son, Dean.” She held out her hand, waiting politely for the man to wipe the chocolate off before shaking.

“Very nice to meet you Mary, Dean.” The man clasped timid hands with each of them in turn. “I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel!” Mary exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “What a beautiful name. The angel of Thursday, right?”

Castiel squinted and tilted his head again, looking slightly dumbfounded. “Yes,” he replied.

“She’s big into angels,” Dean said by way of explanation. Mary turned an affectionate gaze on him.

“That’s unusual,” Castiel noted, but he smiled all the same.

“You just have the prettiest blue eyes,” Mary said, leaning forward and resting an elbow on the armrest between their seats.

Dean groaned, pulling the mocha out of her hand. “Okay, that’s enough caffeine for you.”

Fortunately, Castiel just laughed—a soft, tentative thing—thanking her and returning the compliment in a way that was sincere if not a little detached. Mary smiled warmly at him for a moment and then patted her knees as she stood.

“Well, just a few more minutes until they get here. I’m going to go run to the ladies' room,” she announced. “Dean, watch my purse, will you?”

Dean followed his mother’s progress down the concourse, knowing she that was attempting to leave he and Castiel alone to talk. When she was finally out of view, he sighed. “Sorry about her," he said to Castiel, who still wore a bit of a quizzical expression. "She’s just excited because of the holidays and seeing Sam and Jess, you know.”

“Oh, no, it’s no trouble at all,” Castiel assured him. “It’s nice,” he added after a moment. “It’s… it’s nice.”

Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Castiel folded his napkin perfectly in half, and then into fourths, and eighths, and so on. When the paper got too thick to fold anymore, Castiel unfolded it and got to work folding it in the other direction, keeping corners perfectly together and creasing the folds with a thumbnail. Dean recognized the nervous habit for what it was. “So, you from around here?” he asked, and inwardly cringed at how much the question sounded like a cheesy pickup line. Castiel’s hands stilled and he cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes. Though not originally,” he replied. “We…,” he paused, eyes focusing on something far away. He blinked. “We, um, moved from Illinois. In 2008.”

Dean nodded but didn’t push for more information, even when the silence stretched and became a little uncomfortable. He was almost glad when his mom came back from the restroom a minute later. 

“Checked the screens again,” Mary announced, choosing to stand in front of him instead of taking her place in her seat. “They should be here any minute!”

Dean took that as his cue to get ready. He shoved the empty coffee cups and the brown paper bags into the cardboard carrying case and set off in search of a recycling bin. His mother was shaking hands with Castiel when he returned, so he grabbed her purse off the floor and held it out to her. “Nice to meet you, Cas,” he said, offering his hand for a shake.

Castiel took his hand and shook with less hesitation than he had before. “And you, Dean,” he replied with a small but genuine smile. “Happy holidays to you both.”

“You too, man,” Dean said, and together he and Mary made their way to gate A3 to wait for Sam and Jess.

Jess, it turned out, was a really beautiful and lovely girl. Way out of Sam’s league. Dean made sure to tell her that as soon as they’d all hugged and been introduced. Sam punched him in the arm and called him a jerk. 

“Bitch,” Dean laughed. It had been a while since he'd seen Sam, but even before then, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his little brother so happy. Mary had tears in her eyes just looking at the two of them.

“C’mon,” Dean said, hoping to escape a chick flick moment by reminding everyone that they still needed to get to the baggage claim. Up ahead, he noticed Castiel standing against the wall over by the seating area, looking small in his oversized tan trench coat. He was watching them with an indeterminate expression, but his gaze moved on to other reuniting families when he noticed Dean looking. Dean didn't think much of it as he led his family to the end of the terminal where they retrieved their bags and out the double sliding doors into the icy parking lot. They congregated at Mary’s car—a sturdy and practical monster of a thing—while Sam shoved his and Jess' giant suitcases into the back.

“One of those is full of presents, I swear,” Jess assured Dean as he shook his head at their massive pile of luggage.

The ride back to Lawrence was pleasant, punctuated by laughter and stories. Apparently Sam had fallen asleep during their flight, and since he was seated in the middle seat of their row, he'd drooled all over the horrified older woman next to him. Jess had had to switch seats with him for the remainder of the flight.

“So, Dean,” Mary began when their conversation hit a lull, “did you get his number?”

“Oh my god, Mom,” Dean groaned, covering his face with his hand.

“Ooh,” Jess cooed. She leaned forward between the two front seats. “Did you meet a cute boy at the airport?”

Dean felt the heat burning his cheeks and turned away to the window, hoping the cool air from outside would settle his flush. Sam laughed appreciatively in the backseat. “No, Mom’s just being a goddamn no-good meddling meddler again,” he replied, pressing his forehead to the glass.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” Mary said. She reached over with her free hand to pat him on the arm. “He seemed like a very nice young man.”

“Yeah, he was,” Dean admitted. “Kind of a weird, dorky little guy, but nice. And probably waiting for his wife and kids. You know? Wife? Kids?”

Mary wasn’t having it. “He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, trying to remember. He’d paid close attention to the guy's hands—the lithe, slender fingers and smooth, slightly tanned skin—when he’d noticed Castiel needed a napkin, and again as he watched him fold and unfold the paper into perfect squares. Dean couldn’t remember having seen a ring.

Mary took his hesitation as a small victory. “Ha! Not married. Still available.”

Dean turned in his seat to face his mom head-on. “Yeah, 'cause that proves he's single. He said ‘we.’ I asked if he was from around here, and he said ‘we’ moved to the state in 2008.”

“Oh my god, Dean,” Sam scoffed from behind him, “you used the ‘you from around here’ line? That’s almost as bad as asking if he ‘comes here often.’”

Jess and Mary laughed, and Dean flipped his brother the bird over his shoulder. “Can we just drop it, please? So what if he’s not married? He’s probably got a girlfriend or whatever. Maybe he’s divorced.”

“Honey, did you see the way he was looking at you?” Mary asked. She turned her eyes from the road for just a moment to raise an eyebrow at Dean. “He was interested. I could tell.”

Dean sighed. “You think everyone's gay.”

“I do not!” Mary cried, batting Dean on the shoulder.

“You kind of do, Mom,” Sam laughed. He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Remember when I was twelve and I tried to confess that I’d broken the window of the garage door playing catch, but you cut me off because you thought I was coming out to you and you wanted to tell me how proud you were and that you loved me no matter what?”

Jess burst out laughing and Dean smirked. “See that?” he asked his mother. 

Mary was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

When she recovered enough to speak, she met Sam’s eyes in the rearview again and told him, “To be fair, sweety, you were very invested in musical theatre.”

“Stereotypes!” Sam accused, pointing a finger at the driver’s seat. “How dare you! Dean’s like the manliest dude we know and he’s super gay.”

“Alright,” Dean angled for a look at his brother in the seat behind him. “Super gay?” he asked, eyebrow cocked.

Sam flapped a hand at him. “You know what I mean.”

“You should really come out to California sometime, Dean,” Jess told him. “There’s a huge gay scene out there.”

“Yeah, I’m not really into the ‘gay scene,’” Dean replied. In truth, he wasn’t. He hadn’t come out until very late in life, after a failed year-long relationship with the woman he’d thought was his dream girl back in high school. Turned out that something was always missing. It took a long time to admit it to himself, but eventually he’d come to terms with the fact that his ever-present attraction to men had far eclipsed his feelings for women. Even Lisa Braeden, with her gorgeous curves and sweet, maternal ways, couldn’t hold his attention.

So, at 32 years old, Dean had come out of the closet as quietly and carefully as he could. He’d basically missed out on any formative gay experiences he could have had as a teenager or even a college student, and it made him vehemently opposed to all things flamboyant. He was still the same beer-drinking, plaid-wearing, gruff mechanic’s son he’d always been. He just happened to like dudes now.

“You should try Grindr, at least,” Jess suggested.

“He already has it,” Mary piped up from the driver’s seat. Dean turned wide eyes on her. “What? You think I don’t know the difference between that and Facebook?" Mary scoffed. "Please. Give this old girl some credit.”

"Let me see your phone!" Jess made grabby hands at him.

Dean downright refused, but Jess was persistent. "You might as well give it to her, Dean. She'll steal it anyway when you're not looking," Sam sighed. Dean wondered what the story was there, but he eventually relented, pulling up the app and passing the phone back to Jess.

She and Sam hunched over the phone together for a few minutes, occasionally exchanging _'oh, he's cute'_ s and _'ew, look at that guy'_ s. Dean shook his head at the reality show that was his life.

After ten minutes or so, when the Sam and Dean and Mary had long lost interest in the topic, Jess tilted her head to the side and murmured, “It looks like a sad sea cucumber.”

Sam took one look and threw an arm over his eyes. “Oh my god, Jess! What are you looking at?”

“Christ,” Dean groaned, turning back and snatching the phone from her hands. “What the hell, Jess?!” he shouted when he saw the gratuitous dick pic on the screen.

“I don’t know, the guy seemed nice enough. Then he sent that." She gestured to the phone in Dean’s hand. “God, you guys are gross sometimes.”

Sam couldn’t formulate an argument through his howling laughter. Dean warded off Mary's attempts to get a peek at the phone, grumbling at her to watch the damn road. They laughed up a storm and Dean's face turned a lovely shade of puce as they pulled into Lawrence, just a few blocks from home.

 

\--

 

“So, Castiel. How was your week?”

“It was… okay, actually. I interacted with someone a few days ago. Two, actually. Two people.”

“At the airport?”

“Yes. They were quite nice. A woman named Mary and her son, Dean. They were there waiting for the younger son and his girlfriend to arrive.”

“How long did you speak to them?”

“On and off for twenty minutes or so. Maybe twenty-five.”

“Castiel, that’s… That’s wonderful progress.”


	2. Chapter Two

Christmas at the Winchester household had always been festive and cozy. Mary insisted on pulling out the tubs full of decorations from the attic, and they spent the entirety of their first day together adorning the house—inside and out. By the following day, their home was decked out in the traditional eclectic Winchester holiday assortment, featuring everything from an antique porcelain nativity set to strings of Tibetan prayer flags around the tree and an inexplicable menorah on the mantle. Dean felt the holiday spirit overtaking him, succumbing to it in a way that he hadn't been able to at the airport. This was their family home—the home Dean and Sam had grown up in—and it felt warm and full of life, the cozy rooms echoing with laughter and sweet with the smell of home-cooked meals and fresh-baked pies.

It was good to have their four-person table filled again. Dean could tell that his mom and brother felt the same, though no one acknowledged it. He could see it in the ease of their shoulders and the smoothness of their faces. Christmas morning was joyous and full of love, and Dean felt like a kid again—excited and content in a way that he hadn’t felt in many years.

Jess fit into their family like she was made to be there. She and Mary were two peas in a pod, instantly meshing like a mother and daughter pair. After Jess agreed to quit trying to hook Dean up with her gay friends back home, the two of them fell into an easy, friendly banter that left Dean feeling fond and nostalgic. It was like the days of their youth, growing up with their cousin, Joanna Beth—Dean always teasing and messing with her, while still feeling fiercely protective and loving in that older brother way.

After a week with Jess, admiring her seamless transition into the family, Dean and Mary were both ecstatic when Sam proposed as the ball dropped over Times Square on New Year’s eve, even though the idea of the midnight proposal was a little cliché for Dean’s taste.

Mary and Jess spent the better part of their remaining time together perusing glossy magazines with names like _The Knot_ and _Handmade Weddings_. Dean found that their TV was always tuned to TLC, no matter how many times he flipped it back to ESPN. After a while, he just let it happen. By the end of the week, he could tell how much a wedding dress would cost based on the amount of ‘bling’ it had. “God, this is the gayest I’ve ever felt,” he groused to no one in particular.

Before they knew it, the holidays were over and it was time for Sam and Jess to return to their lives in sunny California. “You sure you don’t want to get married here?” Mary teased them as they bundled into their winter clothes. “It’s scorching hot here in the summer!”

Sam wrapped her in a big hug, enveloping her smaller frame completely. “Nah, I think we’re good on the west coast, Mom.” He kissed the top of her head.

Dean pulled Jess into a hug of his own. “You sure?" He teased. "We could have it in the cornfields. I saw a couple country-style weddings in those magazine of yours. You could have a barn dance and everything.”

Jess laughed. “As much as I’d love to have you as my wedding planner, I think my large and very Californian family would have trouble getting into the whole hoedown-chic thing.”

The bags were crammed into the back of the van—just as tightly as they’d been coming as they were going, since the suitcase filled with presents had been emptied out and filled to the brim with Sam and Jess' new gifts—and made their way to the airport again.

Sam offered to drive so Mary and Jess could sit in the backseat together. He and Dean exchanged eye rolls and smirks as they made their way, the sound of the women’s chatter filling the car.

After a safe amount of silent driving time, Sam started sneaking worrying looks over at Dean, finally asking how Dean was doing, really, low enough that the girls wouldn’t hear.

Dean cleared his throat and nodded, assuring himself as well as Sam. “I’m good, really. Things have been… alright.”

Sam chanced a glance at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dean drummed his fingers on his armrest.

“You gonna be alright without us?” Sam asked. Dean could tell that he was trying for a joke, but it fell flat.

He hesitated before answering, “Yeah. I’m good. I'll be... Good.”

The mood at the airport was distinctly different on January 2nd than it had been on December 23rd. While the holiday decorations remained, the atmosphere was definitely less festive. People were agitated and restless, having come down from the high of the New Year and realizing that they had nothing to look forward to for the foreseeable future. The lines seemed even longer than they were the week before, and Dean was thankful that he’d encouraged everyone to leave with an hour to spare, just in case.

The four of them waited in the check-in line together, making plans for their next visit. Sam had lucked out with his vacation days. As a partner at a prestigious San Francisco law firm, it wasn’t easy or prudent to take so much time off, but Sam had proven himself invaluable to their company, so the other partners allowed it. Still, he wasn’t likely to get that much time off for another few months at least. “I’ll probably have to save it all up for the honeymoon,” he told them as they headed off in search of their gate. Jess got a fond look in her eyes, and Dean made a gagging noise.

She slapped him on the arm. “Oh, shut up. Someday you’ll meet the guy of your dreams and you’ll fall head over heels for him, and I’m gonna be there doing the ‘told you so’ dance while the two of you make heart eyes at each other.”

“Speaking of which,” Mary whispered conspiratorially, nudging Dean with her elbow.

Dean massaged his arm. “Ow! What?” He followed his mother’s gaze to the same seating area outside the American Airlines gates where they’d waited last week. Castiel was there, wrapped in the same ugly tan trench coat. He wasn’t wearing a tie this time, Dean noticed.

“Ooh, is that the guy?” Jess asked, a little too loudly. “What’s he doing here again?”

Dean shushed her, hurrying to get past quickly, hoping the guy hadn’t seen them.

“He’s hot, Dean!” Jess was unrelenting as she craned her neck for a better look.

“Jessica Ann Moore,” he hissed.

“Ann isn’t my middle name.”

Dean came to a stop just outside the gate. “I don’t care. It’s Ann now. Leave the guy alone. And you." He swiveled, pointing a stern finger at his mother.

“What? I didn’t do anything,” she shrugged, feigning disinterest.

“Alright, we’ve gotta get going,” Sam cut in. Dean recognized the distraction for what it was, and thanked his brother with a long-suffering look. Sam returned a sympathetic smile.

“Quit with the silent communication, you two,” Mary said as she pulled both of her boys in for a hug. “I know you’re talking about me.”

“Love you, mom,” Sam told her, reeling her in for an embrace all his own.

“You take care,” Dean told Jess as he let her squeeze him. “Make sure this one doesn’t get into trouble.” He thumbed over his shoulder at his younger brother.

“No promises.” Jess smiled. She and Mary hugged for a minute or so, pretending not to cry.

“You take care of my girl,” Dean told Sam, who laughed and nodded as they exchanged a quick hug and a few solid pats on the back.

They waved their final goodbyes just outside the security checkpoint, and Mary latched onto Dean's jacket as Sam and Jess’ retreating figures disappeared behind a glass wall and the machinery beyond. "I'm gonna miss them," she sniffed, gaze focused on the spot where they'd left.

"Yeah, well." Dean patted his mother's hand. "C'mon." He pulled her out of her trance, turning to head back the way they came. He purposely kept his eyes forward as they passed the seating area to the right, but Mary slipped away from him without a word. Dean sighed.

"Castiel!" Mary called, already weaving her way over to his chair—the last one in the row by the wall, same as last time. Dean took a few deep breaths and followed her.

"Hello Mary, Dean," Castiel said. He looked pleasantly surprised to see them, despite appearing haggard and exhausted a way that he hadn't last week.

"Hey, Cas." Dean stopped a safe distance away.

"How was your holiday?" Mary asked.

Castiel hesitated, giving an almost imperceptible shake of the head before responding. "It was fine, thank you." He recovered quickly and asked them how their holiday with Sam and his girlfriend had been. Mary responded easily, gushing about Jess and the proposal, but Dean knew his mom had picked up on Castiel's odd response as well as he had.

"Would you like some company?" she asked, masking her concern with politeness.

Castiel only hesitated a moment before replying, "Yes, actually. That would be... nice."

Mary beamed at him. "Why don't we all go find a little table at the cafe? Is that alright with you?” Seeming satisfied with Castiel’s nod, she turned to her son. “That sound alright, Dean?" The lift of her eyebrows suggested that it wasn’t a question so much as a request.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Got nowhere else to be."

Castiel's smile was unsure, but he stood to follow the Winchesters anyway. They made their way to the Starbucks in silence, with Castiel trailing slightly behind them.

Mary gestured to a small circular table. "What do you want, baby?" she asked Dean, whose ears went hot at the endearment.

"Just a large coffee, thanks."

"Castiel? You want anything, dear?" Mary asked.

"Oh, no thank you, Mary," Castiel replied. He took a seat across from where Dean had situated himself at the table.

Mary left them to stand in the line that was almost as long as the one Dean had waited in the week before. Seizing the opportunity to sate his curiosity, Dean eyed Castiel up and down for a moment while his attention was averted. When he got to Castiel’s face, his eyes were met with an equally inquisitive blue gaze.

"So, um," Dean floundered, clearing his throat to cut through the awkwardness. "You waiting for family to get here again, or...?"

Castiel shifted uneasily in his seat. He glanced up at Dean and sighed. "No, not... no. I…” He trailed off, looking a little troubled. After a moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something and opened his mouth to speak. “Sometimes, I come to the airport, just to, um." He faltered, doing that nearly imperceptible head shake again.

"It's alright." Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm, aiming to sound casual. He plastered a reassuring smile on his face. "You don't have to talk about it."

Castiel let all of his breath out in a rush and briefly closed his eyes. He thanked Dean with a smile and a small nod. After a few moments of silence, they talked about easy, neutral things until Mary came back, arms laden down with three coffees, a paper bag full of sugars and creamers, and a chocolate chip cookie, just for Castiel. Dean felt really proud to be her son as she insisted that the harried-looking man take the third coffee and the cookie, telling him “no ‘buts’”. Castiel accepted the sustenance with genuine thanks and an offer to split the cookie three ways between them.

They sat together, sipping terrible airport coffee and discussing odd things like gardening and mythology and the goofy way that Sam had proposed to Jess two nights before. Dean and Mary seemed to reach a simultaneous, unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t ask Castiel anything personal. It seemed like the right decision—the longer they spoke, the more the lines etching the man’s face became less and less noticeable. His shoulders, which had been slumped and defeated before, gradually perked up. Dean knew without question that they'd made the right choice to stay and chat with Cas. He vowed to thank his mother for it later.

After about an hour, Castiel stood and smoothed his hands down his wrinkled coat. _No wedding band_ , Dean noticed. “I must be going,” Castiel said in his unusual, formal way. He clasped Mary’s hand in both of his and smiled warmly at her in a way that lit his entire face. “It was very lovely speaking with you again,” he told her, more seriously.

His face changed minutely as he turned to Dean, holding a hand out with less certainty. There was an undercurrent of restraint as they shook hands, a bit longer and more slowly than Dean was used to. “Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said lowly. Dean thought if he looked hard enough he might find whole unspoken worlds in Castiel’s eyes. He swallowed, nodding.

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Dean inwardly kicked himself for his inability to express sentiment. “You take care of yourself,” he added, because he meant it. Their hands dropped but their locked gaze didn’t. A few moments later, Castiel blinked and turned away without another word, heading off in the opposite direction from where they’d come in.

Mary didn’t say much on the drive home, and Dean was grateful for it.

\--

 

"So, Castiel. This is usually a difficult week. How has it been this year? Did you visit the airport on Friday?"

"I did. It was… I was okay. It was alright. They came back and asked me to sit with them. The mother and son, I mean. I spent an hour talking with them, about safe things. They were seeing off the brother and his fiancee."

"Interesting."

"What?"

"You mentioned 'the brother,' when last week you referred to him as 'the son.'"

"Oh, I... Yes, I suppose so. Is that... meaningful?"

"Not necessarily. Tell me more about your time with the mother and son. What were their names? Mary, and-"

"Dean.

"Dean. Tell me more about Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying so far. Come find me on [tumblr](http://glassclosetcastiel.tumblr.com)!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting to get into darker territory. I'm unsure about triggers, but this chapter contains mentions and descriptions of panic attacks which might be unpleasant to some people. If you need to skip that part, it's at the very end.

Dean frequently thought about their encounters with the odd man at the airport. The way his eyes, normally hard and dull with sadness, had turned crystal clear blue, like sunlight under water when he smiled. How he seemed to grow a few inches as his hunched, tired frame thawed out and relaxed. There was just... something special about Castiel. It drew Dean in like a magnet and latched onto his subconscious. He found himself thinking about Cas before he drifted off to sleep. Occasionally, his dreams would twist the man into his namesake—an angel, powerful and righteous—saving Dean from the flames of hell. On those days, he woke in a panic and tried to forget.

On other days, Dean's phone would ring and he would inexplicably expect it to be Castiel calling, even though he knew full-well that it was impossible. He felt uncomfortable about his seemingly meaningless attachment to the near-stranger, but couldn't help it. He often found himself thinking up excuses to stop by the airport, always abandoning the plan when he realized the logistical improbability of not only finding himself there, but running into Cas for a third time, months later.

Dean knew he'd been found out when his mother casually suggested a trip to Kansas City, spouting off some nonsense about wanting to buy souvenirs for Jess, who hadn't gotten any from the airport before she’d left. Dean gave Mary a long, hard look, and she caved.

"Sweetie, you haven't been yourself.” She reached down to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You know you need to-"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean cut her off, knowing what she'd say before she said it.

Mary sighed, coming to wrap her arms around her son from behind. "You just need a friend, baby." She kissed his head and squeezed a little before letting him go.

Dean took a few deep breaths and turned to leave the room. "I'm good, mom," he assured her over his shoulder. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone—not even himself.

They didn't go back to the airport.

\--

"Castiel, it's been a few weeks since you've spoken about your assignment. Are you still going to the airport?"

"Yes. I spend most days there, still."

"And have you engaged in any more social interaction?"

"A… a woman sat next to me a few days ago and we spoke, briefly. She was very nice. Her eyes were kind."

"And how did you feel speaking to her?"

"I felt... I'm not sure. I'm not sure how I felt. I just remember wishing... I couldn't help but wish that she had been... someone else."

"Who did you wish she was? Amelia?"

"...No."

\--

After a few more months, Dean found that the nightmares were abating and he could function almost normally again. He and his mom were busy getting ready for the impending wedding. Sam had sent over very specific directions about the cut, color, and fitting of Dean’s best man tux, about the quality of the shoes he should buy and the way he should cut his hair. It had taken his mind off of things for awhile. Mary wasn’t fussing over him like a mother hen every five minutes, so he considered it a win.

His mother spent the last few days before their trip fretting over gifts and things like whether or not she needed to take her digital camera or get a different kind of purse for the occasion. She asked Dean’s opinion on three different pairs of shoes, doing the one-foot-down one-foot-up dance in her Mother of the Groom dress. Dean thought all three pairs looked equally nice, and he told her so. She kissed him on the cheek, affectionately telling him he was useless.

They packed one bag each—Mary’s a long, folded garment bag to protect her dress and Dean’s suit, and Dean’s an old green duffel that had belonged to his father. Mary didn’t have room for her shoes, so Dean ended up laughing as he stuffed her sparkly high heels into the military-issue bag. Mary gathered snacks, crossword puzzles, and a few of her thick mystery novels, encouraging Dean to take something amusing with him for the long trip. They’d have a two-hour layover in Chicago, which seemed ridiculous to Dean. He didn’t have an excellent mind for geography, but it didn’t exactly make sense to fly an hour and a half northeast just to end up travelling a further four and a half hours southwest. But he’d taken to grumbling about it under his breath, since it was better than the alternative.

Their flight was at 9:05 a.m., so they woke up at the ungodly hour of 6:00 in the morning to shower, change into comfortable traveling clothes, eat breakfast, and get on the road. Dean spent most of the 45-minute drive staring out at the road ahead of them, trying not to think.

After about ten minutes of sidelong glances and barely-concealed worry, his mother finally asked if he was okay.

Dean ignored the deja vu and soouted off his traditional response. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Feeling anxious?” She asked, tone neutral.

Dean searched the side of his mother’s face. “About the trip? Nah, it’ll be alright,” he said. He’d been afraid of airplanes once—deathly so—but that was a long time ago. Planes weren’t nearly as terrifying to him now.

“You thinking about Castiel?” Mary ventured. It was the first time she’d mentioned him in a few months—maybe since March or April. 

“I dunno,” Dean sighed, staring out the side window at the empty fields, the cow pastures and the corn, the occasional dilapidated barn or grain silo.

“I think about him, sometimes,” Mary confessed. “I wonder if he’s okay. There was something about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he…” she trailed off, waving a hand vaguely through the air, searching for the words. “His soul felt heavy. You know what I mean?”

Mary was a very spiritual person. She’d been raised Catholic, but she’d tried her hand at Buddhism, Taoism, Judaism, and several other sects of traditional Christianity. She’d also dabbled in Eastern spiritualism and Pagan traditions and every new age fad under the sun, so Dean was used to talk of souls and auras and angels. Mary believed she had a bit of a sixth sense. He could feel it too, sometimes—an overly empathic sense that left him with an impression of some sort of _otherness_ about certain people. Mary claimed that they were feeling people’s souls. Dean just thought he had a good gut instinct. Whatever it was, he knew they’d felt the same thing about Castiel.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I know what you mean.”

Mary looked away from the road for just a moment to smile at her son, her sea-green eyes crinkling at the corners where her laugh lines had become a permanent fixture. She gave his hand an affectionate little squeeze and turned on the radio to the classic rock station Dean liked. They drove the rest of the way in silence, letting the music fill the spaces left by things unspoken.

Mary parked in long-term parking, having budgeted out enough to cover it for the week. Dean heaved the suitcases out of the back, and Mary smirked and took his heavy duffle from him. Sometimes he forgot that she was one of the strongest people he knew—both physically and mentally. He trailed her into the airport and to the mostly empty check-in counter, where they tagged their luggage before checking it.

“Well, doesn’t look like there’ll be a long line for security,” Mary remarked after they’d completed the complicated process, looking around at the nearly-deserted concourse.

Dean couldn’t help but think that there was little chance of Cas being there, even though he’d built a solid association between the man in his tan trench coat and the Kansas City airport. But now, as they passed several banks of empty chairs along the concourse, Dean realized that it was foolish to think that he’d still be here, seven months later. Plus, there was no way he’d still be in the coat. It was 90 degrees outside. With an odd, uncomfortable pang, Dean realized that his mental image of Castiel was based on little more than an hour of interaction with the man. He couldn’t even picture his face anymore.

Dean wanted to stop in to the restroom before they went through the rigmarole that was security, so he left Mary alone to go in search of the men’s room. It was a little ways down, just on the other side of the almost-empty seating area. Dean tried his best not to look as he passed, but he couldn't help himself. As expected, there was no familiar trench-coated figure sitting there. He swallowed his disappointment and moved on.

Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he was peeing, so he waited to zip up and wash his hands before checking it. He had a text from his mother. _Castiel just got here!_ it read. He found himself smiling stupidly as he hurried to dry his hands and return to the spot where he'd left his mom.

He found her standing with Castiel just outside the gate for their flight. He looked different, somehow. Not just in appearance—although he almost looked like a new man in a simple grey short-sleeve T-shirt and jeans—but there was something off about him. It was in the way he held himself—stiff and nervous and tightly wound, as if he might take flight at any moment.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, sweeping his eyes between the man and his mom, whose expression was pinched a bit in concern. She’d noticed too.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. His arms were crossed over his chest, though it looked more like he was trying to protect himself than wanting to appear defensive.

“You doing okay?” Dean found himself asking, although he had a feeling he wouldn’t get the truth.

“I’m fine,” Castiel replied. Dean could hear himself echoed in Cas’ words. Every time his mom or Sam had asked him the same question over the past seven months, _‘I’m fine’_ or _‘I’m good’_ had been his standard BS responses. Dean nodded all the same, unsure what else to do.

“I have to be going,” Cas said suddenly, giving them a tight-lipped smile. “I wish you safe travels. Please give my regards to the happy couple.”

And just like that, he was gone. Dean watched as he disappeared around the bend in the concourse, headed the way Dean had come.

“That was weird,” Dean said. “What did you say to him before I got here?”

“Nothing much,” Mary replied, frowning as she tried to remember. “Just… you know, I asked him how he’d been, told him we were flying out to California for the wedding, told him that you were here too, but you were in the restroom… I think that’s it?”

Dean got a sudden sinking feeling in his gut and looked out again across the concourse to the empty spot where Cas’ back had disappeared behind the wall of the terminal. He had an urge to follow him and make sure he was okay, but he looked at his watch, realizing that they only had about thirty minutes to spare. Getting through security was always a hassle.

“He’ll be alright, sweetheart,” Mary assured him, sensing the source of his discomfort as always. Dean wanted to believe she was right. It looked like she did, too.

\--

“So, Castiel. You look… distraught. Is there something on your mind?”

“I, ah… It was a bad week.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I suppose. That’s why I’m here, after all. I saw Dean, again, for the first time since the... Since the last time.”

“At the airport?”

“Yes. He and Mary were flying out to California for his brother’s wedding.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Yes. It was… difficult to keep it together. I nearly begged them not to go, but I knew it would seem strange. So I bid them safe passage and had to excuse myself to the restroom before they left. I locked myself in the handicap stall, and… I couldn’t… couldn’t catch my breath. I had an attack. I haven’t had one that bad in… it’s been years since it’s been that bad. No matter what I did, I couldn’t breathe. I tried everything you taught me, but it was no use. I hyperventilated.”

“Did you take anything? Xanax?”

“After a while, I remembered to take one. It didn’t kick in immediately, but once it did I was able to breathe again. So I left to find a chapel, and I prayed. I haven’t prayed in years, but I prayed for them. I prayed to every god I could imagine, and then some.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Six days ago. I’ve been, um. I’ve been staying. At the airport. Just in case.”

“You don’t want to miss them when they arrive safely.”

“Right.”

“Castiel, this is a perfect opportunity to work on some self-care. Remember what you’ve learned. Rationale states that it’s very, very unlikely for anything catastrophic to happen to them. So I want you to go home. Go home and read a book, talk to your brother and sister, spend some time with your niece and nephews. Don’t watch the news reports, don’t go online searching for disasters. Can you do that?”

“I’m… not sure. I’m feeling very dissociative.”

“That’s understandable. You need to take yourself out of that headspace. I think it’s important to continue your work at the airport, but only for a few hours, and not every day. Go just to sit and observe and be at peace. If you feel yourself slipping, you know what you have to do. Take yourself out of the situation. Get away from your automatic thoughts. Remember the statistics you’ve found. Examine those again, if you need to. But go home and be with your family. They’re here, now, and they’re real. They’re tangible. Spend time with the people you love. Can you do that for me?

“I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr and say hello!


	4. Chapter Four

The wedding was beautiful. Every aspect of it had been immaculately coordinated, from the intimate rehearsal dinner at a chic San Francisco restaurant to the flawlessly-executed garden ceremony. Somehow the weather cooperated enough that it had rained during the morning and cooled the temperature down to a pleasant 73 degrees, and puffy white clouds provided occasional respite from the bright afternoon sunlight. Dean watched his little brother fight back tears as his bride-to-be floated down the path toward him, escorted on either side by her parents. Jess looked stunning in a simple but elegant A-line dress. Dean wasn’t even embarrassed that he knew what to call the style.

Jess made it through her vows with minimal loss of composure, only stopping once or twice to dab at her eyes with a muttered “sorry.” Sam, on the other hand, sobbed like a baby through his entire speech. Dean would give him shit for it later, but then and there, in the moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the words and experience the feelings they invoked right along with him. When Sam ended his vows with, “When we have children, I promise to love them with everything I have, to make them feel loved and supported, to work with you to be the best parents and family we can be for the rest of our lives,” Dean had to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

A little while later, as the sun began to sink low over the hills to the west, the party migrated to a closed-off section of the garden with tables artfully draped in white linens and lit overhead by hundreds of fairy lights. Glass bowls sat on each table, filled with greenery and white roses and flickering candles. A string quartet serenaded the guests with classical renditions of popular modern songs. The juxtaposition was actually gorgeous, and Dean found himself humming along to Savage Garden and Boyz 2 Men and not caring one bit.

Although he hated giving people an excuse to stare at him, Dean had been writing and rewriting his Best Man speech for weeks and was actually looking forward to delivering it in front of all of Sammy's friends. When it was his turn, he took a few deep breaths and clinked his champagne glass to get everyone's attention. Coming around to the side of the sweetheart table, he picked up his note cards in one hand and the microphone in the other.

“Hey, everyone,” he began, clearing his throat. He’d met a few of Jess’ family members and some of her and Sam’s friends the night before at the rehearsal dinner, but there were still about a hundred strangers staring up at him. He cleared his throat and continued. “Some of you might know me as Dean, the groom’s older brother. A few of you probably know me as that dude in the plaid from the pictures on Sammy’s desk. And I hear a few of you know me as 'the hottie with the green eyes'?"

A few of Jess’ friends snorted in laughter. He looked up at them and winked, earning a buzz from the crowd. “Anyway, I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about Sam.”

“Oh god,” Sam muttered, hiding his face in his hands.

“Nah, come on, Sammy.” Dean smirked. “All good things, I promise. Sammy here is four years younger than me, so I helped raise him a little bit. Changed his diapers sometimes, tried to get him to eat stuff before he was ready for solid foods, that kind of thing. He actually ruined my seventh birthday party because he threw up all over my slip and slide. True story.” Dean paused to laugh to himself, catching his mother’s eye. He gave her a little smile and decided to go off script, setting his note cards in his lap.

“Sam was kind of shy, you know, growing up. He was always a little nerdy, kind of a dweeb. And I was cool as hell." Jess snorted, but he ignored her. "So this one time, when we were in high school-”

“Oh, no,” Sam interrupted, but Dean held a hand out and forged on.

“So we’re in high school. Sammy’s a freshman, I’m a senior, right? So Sammy has a crush on this girl, Amanda. Amanda’s kind of nerdy, too, kind of quiet. She doesn’t have a lot of friends. But she’s smart as hell, and Sam’s into that. Obviously.” Dean nodded at Jess, who toasted him with her champagne glass.

“So I tell him, hey man, why don’t you ask her to homecoming? Can’t hurt, right? So he asks her and she rejects him. Of course. Because that’s how high school works. So anyway, I decide to have our cousin, Joanna Beth, go with him to make the girl jealous. ‘Cause that’s what works in my experience. So Jo gets all huffy, you know, _ew, I have to go to the dance with my cousin,_ blah blah blah, but she’s secretly happy because she wanted to go and no one else had asked her. Anyway, cut to the dance. The girl, Amanda, marches right up to Sammy and throws a cup of fruit punch right in his face.” There was a collective gasp from the crowd and a tittering of laughter. Dean paused for dramatic effect.

“So anyway, it turns out that Amanda thought Sammy had asked her out as a prank. Apparently, I had kind of a reputation for being a womanizer,” he locked eyes with Sam and they both laughed. “So Amanda thought, you know, by association, Sammy here must be a douchebag, too. But he wasn’t. He was, and still is, the perfect gentleman. So, Jo and I took it upon ourselves to talk to Amanda about how gaga Sam had been over her and how crushed he was when she rejected him. Eventually, she believed us, and she went over to Sammy and apologized like crazy, but Sam just shook his head like it was no big deal and asked her to dance. After the fruit punch had dried off his suit so he wouldn’t get her dress dirty, of course.” Dean paused again, picking up his note cards.

“Anyway, the point is, Sammy’s the sweetest, most genuine guy I’ve ever known. He’s got more integrity in his little finger than most people have in their whole body. He’s too fuckin’ smart for his own good, and, well. He thinks he’s funny, at least.”

“Jerk!” Sam laughed.

“Bitch,” Dean huffed, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “I guess… I guess what I’m trying to say is that this kid right here is the best man I know. He’s taken care of me, even when I hated him for it. Even though he's been a pain in my ass for the last thirty years, I know he’s gonna be a great husband to you, Jess, I think you know that. And some day…” Dean trailed off, taking a moment to compose himself. “Sam, some day I know you’re gonna make the best dad. Your kids are gonna be giant nerds, just like the two of you, and you’re gonna love ‘em to death. And I can’t wait to see that, man. I really can’t.”

Sam and Jess were both sniffling. Dean had to wipe his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket again, but he smiled, setting down his note cards. “So, here’s to Sam and Jess,” he said, taking an extra champagne glass to raise in toast and watching as the assembled guests followed suit. “Here’s to a lifetime of happiness. Cheers.” He downed the champagne as the crowd erupted into shouts of _“cheers!”_ and _“to Sam and Jess!”_ Someone in the back even shouted “Mazel Tov!”

Sam met Dean’s eyes before he drank, saluting his brother with his glass and mouthing, “love you, dude.” Dean raised his empty glass to him in response and nodded.

The evening took on a lighter feeling as dinner ended and the festivities got underway. Even though he couldn’t dance, Dean agreed to stand in for the father of the groom when the time came for the mother-son father-daughter dances. The string quartet played an improbably tolerable rendition of "Arms Wide Open," and Jess took Dean’s hands in hers and swayed in place, smiling.

"Did you pick this music?" he asked her.

She laughed. "I think you know who picked the music."

"Fuckin' Sammy, dude," Dean shook his head in mock offense. "I tried to culture him. I really did."

"I'll pick up where you left off," she assured him with a wink.

"Why couldn't you have a brother around my age?" Dean joked, earning a snort from Jess.

"I'm sorry that my extraordinary wit and beauty wasn't passed on to someone with a penis."

Dean guffawed. "Seriously, though,” he said, shaking his head, “you're perfect for Sammy. You two have a really good thing together." He paused as the song came to an end, pulling her into a hug. Before she let go, he whispered, "Dad would have loved you."

Jess squeezed him extra-tight and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you." She took both of his hands in hers again and told him, "I'm really glad you're my brother-in-law." Dean couldn't think of a more fitting sentiment.

As the night wore on and the champagne was swapped out in favor of a cash bar, an iPod and speaker system were brought out and the dancing intensified. Dean stayed parked at his table, sipping a beer and laughing at his family. Mary and Jess’ mom, Trish, had become fast friends, apparently bonding over their mutual love for embarrassing their children with terrible line dancing. Dean shook his head as his mother attempted to do something called “the Wobble.”

“Stop twerking, mom!” he called out at one point, but Mary just turned to him and stuck her tongue out.

Dean’s mind wandered the longer he sat, his eyes unfocusing and his brain whirring. He had been trying to stay focused on the here and now, on his family and the happy occasion, but now that it was basically over, thoughts of Castiel were pervasive and impossible to ignore. _Was he alright? What had happened to him?_ Dean had become convinced, in the short time since Cas fled from them in the airport, that something horrible had happened to the man. Dean wondered it was. What he was running from.

Sam came by not long after, not surprising Dean in the least. If Mary had a sixth sense for people’s souls, Sammy had a sixth sense for Dean’s moods. “Havin’ fun, Mr. Moore?” Dean teased with a smirk, hoping to circumvent the inevitable discussion about how he was doing.

Sam huffed as he plunked himself down into a chair next to Dean. “That’s not how that works.”

“Come on,” Dean said. “You know who’s gonna wear the pants in your family.”

Sam laughed. “Yep. You’ve got me there.”

“Your wife looks beautiful, by the way,” Dean remarked, because it was true. They watched her dancing the Electric Slide with her mom and Mary and a group of her bridesmaids, and even red-faced and sweaty and laughing like a maniac, she was radiant. Sam’s smile started slowly and lit up his entire face.

“My wife,” he said, testing it out. “Yeah. She’s something, alright.”

They sat together in silence for a moment, watching the party. Eventually, Sam’s face slid into its default concerned puppy expression and Dean knew he was in for a talk about _feelings._ He took a deep breath in and held it, waiting.

“How are you doing, man?” Sam asked, turning in his seat to face Dean.

Dean could feel the standard _‘I’m good’_ at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. “I’m… alright. Doing a little better,” he said instead.

Sam looked briefly astonished at his honesty, but he quickly schooled his expression. “That’s… That’s good. Mom said you were kind of having a hard time there for a while.”

Dean groaned. He knew that his mom and brother had frequent phone conferences about him behind his back, but most of the time he tried not to think about it.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam pleaded. “We’re just, you know, concerned about you. We just want you to be alright.”

Dean downed the last of his beer and spun the bottle between his fingers, watching the dregs roll around on the bottom. “I’m getting there,” he promised.

Sam seemed to accept this answer, giving a quick nod. After a minute, he cast his eyes to the side, gauging Dean’s mood before asking, “So that Castiel guy?”

Dean feigned nonchalance. “Yeah? What about him?”

“You gonna, you know. Ask him out or anything?”

“What is it with you people?” Dean groused. “I barely know the guy.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe you guys could just be friends? You know? Friends go out and do stuff.”

Dean scoffed. “You sound just like mom.”

Sam stood and stretched. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment,” he said, clapping Dean on the shoulder and leaving his hand there for a brief squeeze. “Just think about it, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response, instead turning and heading for the dance floor. Dean watched him go, unsure if the conversation had left him feeling better or worse.

They stayed for a few more days to visit Sam’s law firm and tour San Francisco. Jess insisted on taking Dean to the Castro, where he felt very out of place until he realized he wasn’t the only guy there who wasn’t wearing pink or spandex. In fact, even though he knew most people they encountered were probably gay or bisexual or something in-between, they generally didn’t give off a weird vibe or look any different than any other Californians he'd encountered. After a short time spent in the district, Dean’s perspective on the ‘gay scene’ had begun to shift—that is, until a large and very flirtatious drag queen sat on his lap. He spent the rest of the day flush-faced and very confused.

Sam and Jess saw them off at the airport with promises of many pictures from their impending honeymoon in Bora Bora. Mary and Jess made plans for Skype sessions to tide them over until the next time they could meet in person, and Dean teased Sam with questions about when he planned on making Dean an uncle. Sam just laughed and hedged, “Maybe sooner than you think.”

The line for security at the busy San Francisco airport was a mile long, so they exchanged a final round of hugs and waved goodbye to the newlyweds. About 45 minutes later, they began the tedious process of boarding the plane. Dean hated boarding planes, but once they were settled in their seats and he’d assured the flight attendants that he really didn’t need anything, he was able to sit back and relax. He had just opened up the Skymall magazine and begun to peruse its hilariously useless contents when his mother spoke up.

“The wedding was so beautiful, wasn’t it?” she asked, pulling out her phone and flipping through the pictures she’d taken.

“You’re supposed to turn that off,” Dean chided.

“It’s on airplane mode.” Mary waved him off. “Aww, look at you boys,” she cooed, turning the phone sideways so Dean could look. “So handsome!”

It was a photo of he and Sam and the other groomsmen and bridesmaids at the makeshift outdoor altar before the guests had arrived. Dean hated looking at pictures of himself, but he had to admit he and Sam looked great in their matching tuxedos.

“You have a good time, baby?” his mother asked, taking the phone back and continuing to scroll.

Dean _‘mhmm’ed_ in response, resuming his Skymall perusal. A flight attendant came around to check their row for a final time before the takeoff, telling Mary she would need to turn her phone off, regardless of whether or not it was in airplane mode.

With nothing to occupy her, Mary turned a little in her seat and looked at the side of Dean's face until he groaned and lowered the magazine. “What, Mom?” he asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Nothing, just wanted to see if you were okay.” She shrugged, failing at being casual. She and Sam were so alike, it was scary. “I know you’ve been worried about Castiel.”

Dean sighed, conceding to his overly-intuitive mother. He knew that she wouldn't stop until he'd opened up to her, and they had an extraordinarily long flight ahead of them. “Yeah, I just, I dunno. I got the feeling that something bad was gonna happen,” he admitted, meeting her eyes. “Or maybe something bad already happened.”

Mary nodded. “I know what you mean. He was fine before I mentioned going to San Francisco. He looked like he’d seen a ghost or something when I told him we were flying.”

“He must be afraid of planes,” Dean guessed. “Although, I got no idea why he’d be hangin’ out in airports all the time if that's the case.”

“I don’t know either,” Mary sighed. “I think there’s a lot that we don’t know. But I don’t feel afraid of it, whatever the big mystery is. Do you?”

Dean thought about it, realizing that _no,_ though he knew very little about Cas, and he was sure the guy was hiding things from them, Dean wasn’t the least bit suspicious of him. He wanted to know more about the guy, but it was just because Castiel was intriguing and kind, and despite their limited interaction, he seemed to really _get_ Dean in a way that not many people could. Dean wanted to _get him_ , too.

“No,” he said as the plane began to taxi. “I don’t know what it is about him, but I can just tell he’s a good guy. I feel it in my bones.” Dean turned his attention to the window, staring blankly at the tarmac as it rushed past below them, faster and faster as the plane increased its speed. He could feel his mom’s eyes on the side of his face again, but knew that she was probably giving him that dewey-eyed face that she and Sam were so fond of making whenever he expressed any feelings.

“I think,” she began, carefully, “you should talk to him. You know, maybe try to get his number or something. Just to talk!” she hurried to add, knowing that her son would argue. “I think he could probably use a friend. He seems to need… something. Maybe that something could be you.”

When Dean didn’t respond, she patted his arm and turned to dig her book out of pocket of the seat in front of her. “Just think about it, honey. You know better than I do what’s best for you. Make the choice on your own.”

Dean did think about it. He thought about it as the tires below them lifted off the ground and folded into the belly of the airplane. He thought about it as he ignored the captain’s voice when he announced that he’d turned off the fasten-seatbelts sign. He had at least four more hours to think about it, in fact, so he hunkered down, closing his eyes, and pretended to sleep.

Eight hours later, after they’d landed and stretched and gotten their things from the baggage claim, Mary put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and cocked her head to the side. He followed her gaze to Castiel, who was standing a little way away, pretending not to see them. Though his expression was more positive than it had been a week before, he looked terrible—even from a distance, Dean could see the dark bruise-like marks under his eyes and the scruff that suggested he hadn’t shaved in days. Mary squeezed Dean’s shoulder and whispered, “Go.” It was all the encouragement he needed.

\--

 

“Castiel, you look much better.”

“Thank you. I feel much better.”

“Tell me about this past week.”

“Well, I did what you said. You were right, of course. If I just try to think things through, rationally, I know that it’s very unlikely for… anything to happen. It’s just… difficult, in the moment, to break the cycle of negative thoughts.”

“Of course.”

“But I took your advice. I went home and called Gabriel. He brought me dinner and we talked for a long time about safe things. I took a Xanax to help me sleep and woke feeling a little better. I went to the airport the next day, telling myself that I was there to do my assignment, and that was all. I was going to go for a little while and then go home, but then Dean and Mary landed just as I was about to leave. They had no one there to greet them. I saw them coming out of the gate, and I just… I felt such relief seeing them there. Such relief. I wanted to greet them, but didn’t feel it was my place.”

“What did you do?”

“Mary saw me, of course. She’s very intuitive. Dean hadn't yet noticed me, so she held up a finger to let me know that they’d be right back. About ten minutes later, after they’d gotten their luggage, Dean approached me and we sat together. He told me he’d been thinking about me. He'd been concerned.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“...Good. Different. A bit embarrassed, but. Happy, I think. I believe I was happy. I didn’t think he’d have thought about me. He’s just so… I’m not sure how to describe it. Closed off? He has a hard outer shell, I think. But I look at him, and I think… I think I see the real him, underneath it all.”

“Do you like what you see?”

“I do. Very much so.”

“That’s good to hear. So what happened next?”

“Oh… he, um. He asked if I would like to meet him for coffee. But… this time, outside the airport.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“A bit anxious, admittedly. But… I don’t know why, exactly, but I feel… almost normal again, when he’s there. I feel like I can almost grasp reality the longer he’s around me. So I told him yes. We’re meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“...Yes. Yes, I think I should. I think he deserves to know everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come find me on [tumblr](http://glassclosetcastiel.tumblr.com) and say hello!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end, at last! Thank you all for coming back and reading each new chapter.
> 
> This last one deals with some pretty tough stuff. It mentions some very sad experiences. I've been told that it isn't horribly sad, so I won't spoil anything with particular warnings. Just know that it will get kind of bleak. But it willl get better.

They’d agreed to meet the following afternoon at a quiet coffee shop in the city, since Castiel apparently lived closeby and knew the place. Mary was more excited than when Dean and Rhonda Hurley took their pre-prom pictures at the house, so Dean had to forcefully discourage his mother’s attempts to style his hair and pick out his outfit. He reminded her that it wasn’t a date, and that Cas already knew what he looked like in an old t-shirt and jeans, so looking good now wouldn't matter anyway.

Castiel was already at the cafe when Dean arrived, positioned at a table near the window, far from other customers. Dean smiled as he came in and spotted him. Cas had shaved and styled his hair, and he had a healthy glow about him, like he’d been sleeping well. His blue eyes lit up when he saw Dean, standing and ushering him over to their secluded table.

“Hello, Dean,” he said as he sat back down, gravelly voice surprisingly light. “It’s very good to see you.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, smirking, but Cas didn’t seem embarrassed at his own honesty. Dean got the sense that he didn’t think about life like most people did. It was kind of refreshing, and made him feel bold. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said.

He took a moment to notice the way the sunlight hit the angles of Castiel’s face—the way his long eyelashes cast shadows over his high cheekbones, the sharp slope of his nose—before clearing his throat. “You want some coffee or something?”

“I ordered us two black coffees,” Castiel told him. “I hope you don’t mind. I noticed that you drank your coffee black last time.” Dean wondered what else he’d noticed about him, and then tried not to think about it.

Soon, their order was called and Castiel retrieved their mugs, gripping both handles in one hand so he could hold a plate of apple tart in the other. He smiled handsomely as he set it all down, producing two plastic forks from his pocket. They ate the tart together in companionable silence, Dean giving Castiel the space to decide when to speak and what about. After a moment, Castiel took a sip of his cooling coffee and asked about their vacation and about the wedding.

“It was nice. Real nice,” Dean told him. “Jess made sure everything was perfect. But not in like a Bridezilla type of way. She's a sweet girl. She’s perfect for Sammy.”

“You love your brother very much,” Castiel noted, smiling with his eyes. They were a clear, bright blue today.

“He’s a good kid.” Dean eyed the last bite of tart. Castiel gestured for him to take it, setting his fork down in a decisive way.

Another minute of contemplative silence passed, so Dean wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin, folding it carefully and setting in on top of the empty plate. He looked up in time to catch Castiel watching him, brow furrowed. Dean held his gaze and smiled softly, letting him know that it was okay to look. And it was. Dean always hated it when people looked at him, because he knew they weren’t _seeing_ him. He knew without a doubt that when Castiel looked, he _saw_ Dean.

Dean cleared his throat. “Listen,” he began, voice lowered even though they were far from anyone else in the room, “I’ve been through some shit, so I know what it looks like." With a wave of his hand, Dean made a gesture that encompassed his whole face." I also know there’s no point in keepin’ it all up here,” he tapped at his temple. “It eats away at you. Now, I’m not saying you gotta tell me anything if you don’t want to. All I’m sayin’ is, you can. If you want.”

Castiel lowered his eyes and let out a slow, deep breath. Dean noticed that his left leg was bouncing up and down under the table.

“I’d like to tell you everything, if you’re willing to listen,” Castiel said hesitantly. Dean just nodded, afraid to break the delicate resolve that Cas had built up.

“I’ve never… I haven’t talked about this with many people,” Castiel began. “It’s hard, even now. It’s difficult. But I feel… I trust you, and I feel… good… when I’m around you. So I think I should tell you, and maybe talking about it with you will help.” He downed the rest of his coffee, setting the mug aside and wiping his lips with a napkin before continuing.

He took a deep breath, in and out, and forged on. “As I told you before, I used to live in Illinois. I was a professor of Biblical Archeology at the University of Illinois, which is where I met… Amelia.” He cleared his throat, the shaking of his leg becoming more pronounced. “We were married in 1999 and had our daughter, Claire, the next year.”

Dean hoped the disappointment didn’t show on his face. He _knew_ the guy had to have been married. _Damnit._ He nodded, encouraging Castiel to continue.

“Anyway, I was given an excellent opportunity to teach here in Kansas City, so we packed up and moved here in 2008. Claire was sad, at first, leaving her friends, but... she was young and resilient, and made new ones.”

Here he paused and excused himself from the table, stepping away to drink from the water fountain by the doors to the restroom at the back of the cafe. Dean watched as he swallowed a pill down, but didn’t ask about it when Cas returned to his seat.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, giving that barely-there head shake. “Anyway, we settled in here, in Kansas City, and we had a good life. But Amelia missed her mother back in Milwaukee. Which was understandable, of course. They’d always been so close, and Chicago was near enough that she’d been able to drive out to see her whenever she wanted. So I didn’t mind when she’d want to visit her mother frequently. She was in her late seventies, and wasn’t very mobile anymore, so it was more convenient for us to fly there to see her than for her to make the trip here. So… we would travel up north for the holidays every year to be with her. But, um. Four years ago, they promoted me to Theology department head at the University, and though the school was closed for winter vacation, I had a lot of additional work to accomplish. So I decided to stay home.”

Dean got a sudden sick feeling in his gut. He longed to reach out and still the shaking of Castiel’s leg with a gentle hand, but he held back, listening as Cas struggled through his story.

“I was sitting there, you know… in that spot where we first met? That was where I waited.” His eyes were wet with tears, but they wouldn’t fall. He continued, staring through the table as he spoke. “When American Airlines flight 1731 landed and the passengers started disembarking, I stood up to greet them, and I waited and waited. I watched… I saw people all around me reuniting, and I waited, and they never came. Did you know… they don’t report every crash on the news? Not if the loss of life isn’t high. They don’t report them all.” His face had gone frighteningly blank, so Dean reached out across the table and laid his hand on top of Castiel’s. He took a chance and rubbed a soothing circle over Cas’ wrist, squeezing gently. Grounding him. Tying him back to the present.

Castiel snapped back into the moment, eyes briefly meeting Dean’s before closing. He took another series of deep breaths and went on. “Their connecting flight from Chicago made it to Kansas City, but they never made it to onto that plane. It was January 2nd, 2012.”

The realization hit Dean like a punch to the gut. January 2nd. The day that he and his mom had asked Cas to sit with them, had bought him a coffee and a cookie and talked to him about bees and flowers and weirdo Indian goddesses. It had been the anniversary of the day his family was taken away from him. Dean resolved to forgive his mother for meddling as soon as he saw her.

Castiel seemed to sense Dean’s epiphany. He flipped his hand under Dean’s and interlaced their fingers, giving him a meaningful smile. “You have no idea how much it helped having you and your mother there that day. I generally… I don’t fare well on the anniversary. But you helped me keep it together.” He gave Dean’s hand a little squeeze.

Dean squeezed back and continued to hold Castiel’s hand, thankful that their table was so far away from any prying eyes. They must have been quite a sight. Dean felt compelled to ask the question that had been on his mind ever since that day, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.

“Why do you go?” He asked, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing Castiel would understand his meaning. _Why would you take yourself back to the place where your world came crashing down?_

Castiel cleared his throat again and shifted a little in his seat, bringing his other hand up to cup around the back of Dean’s. “It’s, um… after… after the accident, I was in a very dark place. I don’t remember most of that time, actually. I blocked it out. But my brother started taking me to a therapist. A specialist, actually. I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had so much guilt about not being on the plane with them... That I had survived simply because I was too busy to accompany them... It took me a long time to even… feel like I could leave the house. But… after a couple of years, I was able to go out and buy my own groceries again, go to get my haircut at a real barber shop, things of that nature. The therapist suggested a regimented treatment program, where I would begin by driving past the airport. I would drive past it and keep going. And then after a few months, I would park in the parking lot and sit, and watch the planes taking off and landing safely. Eventually, she suggested that I go inside the concourse and sit. Sit and watch the arrivals, as I had, that day. It’s… she calls it homework. It’s proven very effective. Very therapeutic, naturally. I find that it brings me great comfort to watch families and friends reuniting with one another.”

Dean could feel himself continually nodding, itching to speak. But he waited, allowing Castiel to finish first.

“I must admit, however,” Castiel faltered, clearing his throat for a third time. Dean noticed his leg had stopped shaking, and wondered if it was because the meds had kicked in. “Sometime between January and now, I realized… I hadn’t just been coming back to the airport to complete my homework. I, ah.” He flicked his eyes up to Dean’s and then quickly down again. “Somewhere along the way, I started coming because I’d hoped I’d see you again.”

Dean was experiencing such a vast range of overwhelming emotions that he almost forgot to speak. It was his turn to clear his throat. “Cas, uh. Can I tell you something now?” He asked, giving Castiel’s hand another little reassuring squeeze when he nodded.

“I go for CBT*, too,” Dean admitted, using the acronym so Cas would know he meant it. Blue eyes widened in surprise, but Dean forged on. “I used to drive this beautiful ‘67 Chevy Impala. She was my dad’s, when he was younger, but he kinda handed her over, you know. Passed on the reins. She was my baby, man.” Dean gazed off into the distance as he remembered. “So about eight years ago, my dad and Sammy and I went to see a Jayhawks game. It was the end of summer, Sam was just about to move out to California and start law school, so it was like our last hoorah, you know. But, uh… we never made it.”

It was the first time he’d allowed himself to think about it in a very long time. He could feel the recurrent memories lingering just below the surface, scratching to get out. He had an intense appreciation for the strength it had taken for Castiel to talk about his own incident. Dean took a few deep breaths, clinging to Castiel’s hands like a lifeline. It gave him the strength to continue.

“A, uh. A semi truck ran a red light. They say the driver’d been awake 36 hours or more, probably fell asleep at the wheel. Anyway… the passenger side got the worst of it. Dad was killed instantly.” Dean paused, trying his hardest not to picture it. He swept his eyes up to Cas’ face and held his eyes, feeling present. Feeling safe.

“Sammy was sitting behind me, so he walked away pretty much unhurt. Hit his head pretty good, though. Knocked him unconscious, thank god, so he didn’t have to see, you know. Everything.” Dean swallowed hard and shut his eyes, taking a moment to calm himself. Castiel squeezed his hands again.

“I tried to get out, but I was pinned under the steering wheel. Couldn’t move, you know? I saw Dad… and then I looked back and saw Sammy, didn’t know if he was dead or alive, but I couldn’t reach him. Scariest couple minutes of my life, waitin’ for that kid to be pulled to safety.” He looked up and met Castiel’s eyes again, expecting to see pity there, but found none. There was only sympathetic understanding in his earnest gaze. It was exactly what Dean needed to see. 

“Anyway,” he continued, “that’s how I ended up with this.” He gestured to his wheelchair.

Castiel nodded, eyes never leaving Dean’s. It was a small thing, but Dean appreciated the fact that Cas didn’t ever seem to look at the chair. It was part of the reason Dean felt like Castiel really saw _him_. Maybe to Cas, the chair was just an accessory, like Dean’s faded pair of jeans.

“I had the same problems, you know,” Dean went on. “Couldn’t leave the house for a long time. Kept having nightmares, recurring memories and thoughts. Kept waking up thinking Sammy was dead, or else I was and I was burning in hell. Took a long time to get back to normal. I hated talking to the therapist at first, but the CBT helped. The meds helped a bit, but I don’t take ‘em as much anymore. My homework was to get in a car. Just any car. My mom got this giant, ugly-ass van to drive us around in. It’s wheelchair compatible, but I usually just get myself up into the passenger seat instead of strapping into the back. Anyway, I would just get in, at first, and sit there while it wasn’t moving. Then eventually Mom or Sam would take me for a quick drive around the neighborhood. Slow and easy. After a while, I could look away from the road, you know. Relax while they were driving. Even shut my eyes sometimes.”

“That takes a lot of trust,” Castiel reasoned. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, it did. It’s not so bad, now. Pretty easy, actually. My next step was to fix the Impala. I used to work part time as a mechanic at my dad’s shop, so I asked the therapist if she thought it’d help, and she told me it would. After about a year or so, I was finally able to look at the car. Took me two years to fix her all up, but I did it. She’s good as new now. My uncle Bobby—he wasn’t really my uncle, but he might as well have been—he was in a chair, so he knew all about this stuff. He set me up with a set of hand controls before he passed so I could drive Baby again, but, uh…” Dean wiped a hand over his face, feeling wrung out. “I still can’t, you know? I haven’t been able to drive, yet. Can’t bring myself to do it.”

Castiel rubbed a soothing back-and-forth pattern over the top of Dean’s hand. “That’s okay,” he said. Dean knew that he meant it, too, because Cas probably hadn’t been on a plane since 2012, and it was kind of the same thing. And suddenly, as if a switch flipped in his brain, Dean realized he wasn’t alone in this. _He wasn’t alone._

He found himself laughing, then, as he relaxed and allowed his mind to wander back to what Castiel had said before. What he’d confessed. Dean had been so dumbfounded by their similar experiences, he’d hardly registered what Cas had said. 

Cas’ head tilted a bit in confusion, but his lips quirked up a bit as he asked Dean what was funny.

"Nothing," Dean said, shaking his head. "Just, uh... what you said before, about doing your homework? It’s just… I've been coming up with these schemes and shit, for months. Plans to somehow get to the airport. To see you. I didn't ever do it 'cause I didn't want to ask Mom to drive me." Dean kept his eyes on the empty plate and folded napkin, laughing a bit again. "All this time, if I'd have just done my last homework assignment… I could have seen you if I’d just driven myself there."

\--

"So, Dean. Last time, you mentioned you had a coffee date."

"I never said it was a date."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume-"

"Nah, it's okay. Turns out it kinda was a date, after all."

"And how did that go?"

"Great. It was... Awesome, actually. Turns out the guy has PTSD, goes to a specialist for CBT. the works. We even take the same meds."

"Did you discuss your past with him?"

"Yeah. He told me about his incident first. Tough shit, Jesus. Lost his whole family. But uh, yeah. I told him. Told him the whole shpiel."

"How did that feel?"

"Actually... really, kinda nice. Haven't been able to talk about it like that with anyone, 'cept for you, of course. It felt… good talking about it with him. He just gets it, you know?"

"I'm sure he does. Are you going to spend more time together?"

"Yeah. We uh. We have a date on Friday night. A real one. And… I think I'm gonna drive myself there."

"Dean, that's excellent. Are you sure you're ready?"

"Yeah, I really think I am. Life is good, you know? I met a guy who looks at me like I'm a human being, I think my sister in law might be pregnant... things are good. And Cas... He just... he makes me feel... normal. He makes me feel like myself again. I dunno. I think, maybe, we could be good for each other."

"I think you're absolutely right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *CBT stands for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, a specialized treatment for PTSD.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this story. It’s really become my baby, and I hope that you’ve all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> The title was taken from _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ , one of my favourite books of all time. The book does such an amazing job of handling mental illness and the constant struggle to maintain normalcy, I had to take a bit of inspiration from it somehow. This quote in particular stuck out to me because it has to do with PTSD and its propensity for saddling survivors with unrealistic guilt: “And I know that my aunt Helen would still be alive today if she just bought me one present like everybody else. She would be alive if I were born on a day that didn't snow.”
> 
> I hope that Dean’s handicap was a surprise, but not a bad one. Most of this story is written from Dean’s perspective, so I wanted to express the way he would think of the world and himself. When you spend time in a wheelchair, it can feel like an extension of yourself, and you might begin to forget that it’s there, or that you’re different (until people stare. And they do). So Dean doesn’t constantly talk about his chair or his disability. It’s just another part of him that doesn’t need special attention. For Dean, the mental wounds are worse than the physical ones.
> 
> Once again, thank you for sticking it out. I hope you enjoyed! Come find me on tumblr and say hello. Really. I love hearing from you!


End file.
